


Souls Apart

by inkcharm



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Immortality, Nudity, Original Universe, Reincarnation, The Fade, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-02 05:51:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4048609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkcharm/pseuds/inkcharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a dozen, a hundred, a thousand different worlds and in a thousand different ways, they find each other, love each other, die on each other. They always meet, except when they don't. Those are the ones she almost doesn't make it through. Their lives are shattered fragments scattered everywhere. They sustain her and bleed her dry. Countless ways and places and times in which they cross paths and love and live and die. There's just one that's true for her - but when it's easy to get lost in all they could have been and are else where, will she find her way back to their version, or is it too late for them in this world?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Interlude: Souls Apart

**Author's Note:**

> A story told in various AUs of varying complexity and length. The warnings will get updated as I add glimpses into and snippets from other AUs with every chapter, and whenever applicable, the individual chapters will feature specific warnings as well.

**Interlude: Souls Apart**

They always meet. 

No, that's too true. 

Sometimes they don't. Sometimes he dies alone before she can support his rise to stand on his own two feet, and sometimes she never makes it to his side to learn how to be cared for so much in return. Those are the worst. 

Those are the ones she almost doesn't make it through. 

Their lives are shattered fragments scattered everywhere. They sustain her and bleed her dry. 

A dozen, a hundred, a thousand ways and places and times in which they cross paths and love and live and die. There's just one that's true for her, and she's not sure if she even remembers anymore. Where did they leave off, where were they going, are they even still...

She cuts her palm on glass. Or maybe it's stone, just oddly translucent. 

For so long, she had no idea. It's upsetting to know how much more there is out there. It's comforting to know there are constants in her existence. Family, loss, burdens... him. Sometimes she circles back on accident, finds more beginnings, perhaps subconsciously trying to avoid discovering more endings. Sometimes she glimpses middles. 

Artificial lights and the crescent moon, duty and freedom, sacrifices and stolen moments. Blood on white marble and trial by fire, old age and hospital beds. Routine and domesticity, adrenaline and fear. Past and present and future, might have beens and could never have beens, memories and hopes. 

She's trying to keep moving forwards and keeps circling back, because she doesn't know how to cross the distance when their souls are so far apart, scattered across the places in between, like dust, like stars in the sky, connected, but how can she be connecting when she's here, and he's not? 

Water flows upwards, glass is stone and stone is glass, and she needs to know how they began, needs to remember how it all started.


	2. Lifeless: Remote Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lifeless Verse: In which Hawke and friends are Law Enforcement, and Fenris is an android. Or is he?

**Verse: Lifeless**  
_Remote Control_

The others snorted and laughed, standing in a semi-circle around the huge box that had been delivered earlier, all smooth, foreboding metal. Their eyes were on the naked form before them without displaying any interest in the expanse of skin on display. 

„How about we try this one?“ Isabela mused, gesturing at the remote in her hand in such a vague manner that she might as well have indicated every single button found on it. Her tongue peeked out from between carefully painted lips, and despite pitching the question to the room she managed to ignore every single suggestion the gathered crowd was tossing her way, finally deciding on a non-descript blue button that looked so innocent it could only offer entertainment. 

The naked man commanding such attention jerked to attention at the press of the button, raising his left arm. Smiles froze or died away as his palm folded apart to reveal a vicious looking firearm. 

„Shi--“

„Put that away! Is it armed? Put it AWAY!“

„They wouldn't arm it on delivery, relax, this can't possibly...“

„You wanna take that risk?“ 

A door slammed, effectively cutting the bickering short. Hawke narrowly avoided crossing her arms, but definitely activated the power of a mid level frown. She scanned the crowd, unsurprised to find two very likely ring leaders front and center. 

„Varric, Bela. Mind telling me what's going on?“ 

Ha, she even managed to sound all neutral with just a hint of disapproval just in case. Aveline would be so proud of that, and of the fact that Headquarters hasn't had to shut their entire branch down just yet in the few days of Hawke's substitute leadership. Life goals: Not causing Aveline's lovely red hair to turn grey for another five years at least. 

Isabela didn't even miss a beat in trying to hide the remote behind her back rather unsuccessfully. Varric had the decency to look somewhere between 3 and 4% sheepish. It was an accomplishment, and Hawke was honestly starting to understand the kind of power Aveline wielded in her position as Team Mom. It was dizzying. The two culprits nudged one another back and forth a little until Varric quietly gave in to Isabela's strong mental argument that he was a storyteller and therefore much better suited to sell this to their boss-of-sorts. 

„So. Well, your new partner was delivered. The new Unit.“ 

Ah. Well, that explained the presence of a naked man in the middle of the bull pen at least. Hawke ran fingers through her hair and tried not to stick her tongue out. Even a Temporary Mom of the Team was better off not acting like one of the kids. „You guys realize you're fooling around with equipment more valuabel than our annual salaries added together? Speaking of which, Isabela, you don't even work here.“ Not that it was a surprise to find her hanging out here regardless. Hawke had long ago decided not to ask how Isabela actually made any money. She was still a valuable informant. 

The big dream of law enforcement. Truth be told, she'd gone into it because she needed money, and Captain Aveline Vallen had been looking to hire to bolster the ranks. No naive dreams of bettering the world. Except now that she was working the job, Hawke was also actually trying to make the world a better place. Varric loved to mock her for it. Never stopped him from spinning tales of Hawke's questionable heroics. Which was why Aveline had chosen Hawke for the equally questionable privilege of being partnered with a Unit. Working with them was standard procedure, but apparently Headquarters were considering cutting half the manpower and replacing them with the expensive machines. The biggest question was whether Aveline had chosen Hawke for this latest test run in the hopes of her succeeding or failing so spectacularly that he idea was scrapped. 

„Aw, you never let me have any fun, Hawke,“ Isabela drawled, but handed over the remote quite gladly. It was all fun and games until you almost accidentally made the killer robot shoot your head off. 

Not... that Units are killer robots, of course, the government had been very clear in its endless PR campaigns years ago. Hawke shook her head and got the crowd to disperse with a flick of her wrists – seriously, she was feeling a little high on power right now. Varric leaned against her against, unfazed, and Isabela blew her a kiss before making her escape. Presumably to find easier naked prey. 

„Please picture Aveline telling you about how the remotes are emergency only, and definitely not toys to play around with, I don't lecture as beautifully as she does.“ 

„You have other qualities. And your own personal Unit.“ Varric was being entirely too smug about this. And concerned. Hawke knew why – as if she of all people could treat a Unit that looked like a person as if it was a glorified gadget. He tossed over the standard issue clothing pack, pants, shoes, shirt and jacket in a friendly shade of non-descript black. 

Hawke stuck her tongue out at him. It was okay, if it was just the two of them. But admittedly her heart wasn't quite in it. They had a Unit on call for the entire department in case more than the usual backup was needed, and they'd always been careful with it. Upgrades and replacement parts weren't an issue, but Hawke was pretty sure she'd have to go back to shady smuggler work if she ever managed to get it damaged beyond repair. 

And now... Brand new Unit, to act as her partner. Instead of Varric, which was just all kinds of tragic. Who would obnoxiously narrate boring patrol duties now? Realizing she was just stalling actually dealing with this, Hawke sighed and forced herself to actually look the Unit over. It was still standing there, firearm raised, but otherwise motionless. Not yet properly activated, still dormant. 

It looked like a dark-skinned elven man with a shock of white hair, and could have easily been mistaken for a living person if not for the white lines running all over its body in mesmerizing swirls. Okay, maybe Hawke could kinda understand Isabela's fascination, so sue her. There was a reason that Units weren't just sold for domestic or weaponized use – these days they far outsold any other sex toy on the market. This one was naturally smooth between the legs, as a combat Unit had no use for such upgrades. It was a prototype, constructed in Tevinter – hence the elven look, Hawke guessed. Tevinters had a thing for aesthetics, and apparently wanted all their robots to be beautiful. Plus, the manufacturers were slowly but surely shifting towards elven molds as the default, as they outsold any other race. A fact that caused a lot of tension with real elves, considering that slavery was still very much a problem in some places – including Tevinter, naturally. Add to that the fact that Units looked more like real people with every generation, and it was just all kinds of uncanny. 

Varric was browsing the catalogue for various upgrades – there was almost no limit to how you could customize your Unit. Hawke meanwhile went straight for the manual, a small black disk that whirred to life when she she pressed her index finger to it, allowing it to scan her finger print. The white lines on the Unit's body lit up, surprising Hawke. Prototype, alright – this wasn't a power source she had ever seen on other Units. Definitely a game changer, and a far cry from the cables as thick as arms that used to trail from Units' backs when they were first tossed onto the market and had to be charged up every hour or so. A man's voice started to come from the manual. 

„Thank you for purchasing at Lyrium Unity Ltd. With this delivery you have received Unit 0001 FE-NR-I-S, a Fighter Entity equipped to handle issues of National Risk, Imminence and Security. Our latest model is powered by a brand new, self-sustaining lyrium system and features an adaptive AI chip in order to better assess situations and react accordingly to your individual specifications and requirements. As this introduction plays, your Unit is already booting up. In order to activate your Unit, please follow these instructions carefully...“ 

Hawke stared at the green of its eyes once the white blue glow of its power source faded. She still watched closely as something eerily akin to life bled into its empty gaze.


	3. Celestial: Sun and Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celestial Verse: In which Fenris is the Moon and Hawke is the Sun, and things promise not to work out well.

**Verse: Celestial**  
_Sun and Moon_

In another place, in another time, in another moment she met him at the altar. 

The golden crown rested comfortably on her head as she observed the room. The crowning ceremony was over, and the evening's main event about to begin. The Sun had been crowned, the Champion, the swing vote, the figure head. It all depended on perspective. A rank meant to hold more power than any king, meant to be held by a person of faith to connect the common people to their gods, whose blessings would make the world prosper. 

Varric called it a load of horse shit, but allowed it made for a good story. He was one of the archivists tasked with committing all of this to written memory for future generations. 

Marian had to agree in part, if only because she knew herself, and was really not as glorious as the golden crown made her appear to be. Really, she just stumbled into this, came into wealth and influence that still surprised her. That she was in the right place at the right time and made the right call a couple of times hardly elevated her above others. 

The people disagreed, as it would seem. 

He approached the altar from a side door after she'd been crowned, and Marian swallowed her nerves. Wouldn't do to look spooked now. 

Varric told her this was a package deal. She'd be crowned, she'd have a fancy title and some vague, non-specific influence. For some reason that had little to do with who she was and more with what she symbolized to the common folk, she'd be important and powerful.

She'd also be married. 

The Moon, so she was told, was the vessel that connected this world to the ones beyond it, whose existence granted magic a passage into their world. The legend had it that he was immortal, as elves used to be, that he was blessed by the gods with pure magic underneath his skin. Marian couldn't help but stare at the white lines, shimmering blue and silver. It was a lovely legend. The truth was much more grim, as Varric helped her discover deep in the archives. 

The magisters who tainted their world with mortality and sin were trying to bring magic back. The Moon was the result of such an attempt. It worked, if not the way it was intended. His blood was meant to help them forge the essence of pure, raw magic, and instead his blood sealed that essence inside his body. He could die, just not of old age, and he couldn't be allowed to die, because the world had come to need magic again quickly. 

People thought him chosen, but Marian thought him chained and collared, enslaved by what other people wanted of him. It was no wonder he scowled at her, with eyes that seemed to see right through her, to the web of magic she could tug at. Magic she could only wield because he existed and was kept safe and alive. The loathing was true in his eyes, and Marian couldn't blame him. He had no choice in partner, was given to whomever wore the golden crown. A symbolic union, not meant to produce offspring. All of this was a big stage production as much as anything. The truth of the matter was that they'd be married because even as symbols, they were possibly the two most powerful people in this world. The stories told of the Sun and Moon keeping one another safe from the world, when in truth Marian believed they were supposed to keep the world safe from one another. If the Moon wanted, dared, he could tear himself asunder, and plunge the world into chaos. And if Marian stumbled, failed, she'd tip the fate of nations.

His feet were bare. Her hands were painted. Meeting at an altar surrounded by torches, in a cathedral housing hundreds yet locking eyes with only one another should have been the pinnacle of cheesy romance, but Marian found herself not caring for it. 

She didn't even know his name, doubted he knew hers. And did it really matter? 

They faced one another not like lovers to be married, but like prisoners led towards execution, palms up and touching. His palm glowed blue. People whispered that the Moon was reflecting the Sun's light, and Marian felt a surge of anger on his behalf. That glow was magic resonnating painfully beneath his skin, discomfort obvious in the clench of his jaw. 

They were opposites, but not connecting, just facing each other over a chasm. The way he seemed ready to lunge, attack the world at large and demand his choices back. The way she just wanted to keep running and stop getting places that had use for her but not vice versa. His dark skin against her pale palm. 

It was over before it had begun, with permission to kiss. 

Neither of them took it.


End file.
